"If Christianity should happen to be true -- that is to say, if its God is the real God of the universe -- then defending it may mean talking about anything and everything. Things can be irrelevant to the proposition that Christianity is false, but nothing can be irrelevant to the proposition that Christianity is true."
-- G.K. Chesterton
This blog needs more structure. I'll sometimes begin to write a post, work on it for a couple days, and then decide in the end that I shouldn't post it, which ends up leaving this place postless and dead, despite my good intentions. So, I have decided to migrate a weekly Facebook post that I make to this, my beloved blogspot. The post is called "Verseday Thursday," because it's as close as I could get to a rhyme. At any rate, I do hope you'll find the poems worth your while.
To kick off this very first blogspot edition of Verseday Thursday, I'm presenting you with today's post in addition to back-posts for a very special New Years Eve Verseday Thursday.
Cheers.
VERSEDAY THURSDAY (31 Dec. 2009): Gilbert Keith Chesterton
I nearly forgot today was a Thursday. But I remembered, and in honor of the new year, I've decided to share one of my favorite Chesterton poems.
A PRAYER IN THE DARKNESS - by G. K. Chesterton
This much, O heaven--if I should brood or rave Pity me not, but let the world be fed. Yea, in my madness if I strike me dead Heed you the grass that grows upon my grave.
If I dare snarl between this sun and sod, Whimper and clamour, give me grace to own In sun and rain and fruit in season shown, The shining silence of the scorn of God.
Thank God the stars are set beyond my power; If I must travail in a night of wrath, Thank God my tears will never vex a moth Nor any curse of mine cut down a flower.
Men say the sun was darkened, yet I had Thoughts it beat brightly, even on Calvary: And He that hung upon the torturing Tree Heard all the crickets singing, and was glad.
VERSEDAY THURSDAY (18 Dec. 2009): William Butler Yeats/Day-late edition [posted it on a Friday. ]
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven - W.B. Yeats
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
(Very possibly my favorite Yeats poem)
VERSEDAY THURSDAY (10 Dec. 2009): Thomas Nashe
ADIEU, FAREWELL EARTH'S BLISS (A.D. 1592) –by Thomas Nashe
Adieu, farewell earth's bliss, This world uncertain is; Fond are life's lustful joys, Death proves them all but toys, None from his darts can fly: I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
Rich men, trust not in wealth, Gold cannot buy you health; Physic himself must fade; All things to end are made; The plague full swift goes by: I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air, Queens have died young and fair, Dust hath clos'd Helen's eye: I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
Strength stoops unto the grave, Worms feed on Hector brave, Swords may not fight with fate, Earth still holds ope her gate; Come, come, the bells do cry. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
Wit with his wantonness Tasteth death's bitterness: Hell's executioner Hath no ears for to hear What vain art can reply: I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
Haste, therefore, each degree To welcome destiny: Heaven is our heritage, Earth but a player's stage: Mount we unto the sky. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
A couple recent poems. They aren't fantastic, but I suppose they aren't vomit-worthy either. Neither of these is actually titled, but I felt like I needed to title them to post them. I'm sure I'll read them again in a few months and either burn or revise them (...for the umpteenth time. Alas). But until their demise or further verbal (plastic) surgery...
Silent Melancholy Sits
Silent melancholy sits
Crouched beside the path
Well-worn and soft,
Like tired earthen backs,
With the stately steps
Of distilled centuries.
Green, it hides,
And gray, it hangs.
It waits for me to pass
With tender silent tread
And turns blithe inspiration
Heavy, entering like a mist
And choking like a sigh.
Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes.
This remarkable line captures the essence of the epic hero. It is this sentiment of mankind’s glory that makes myths and epic poems. Literature, in all its historic vastness has painted images of the ideal man: men like Hector, Odysseus, Aeneas, King Arthur, and Beowulf. The great Greek and Humanist sculptors of the Renaissance attempted to carve the body of this ideal man. In pursuit of this ideal, we are often willing to excuse the faults of a great man if his greatness outweighs his faults: giants, for instance, like King David, Martin Luther King Jr., and Churchill.
However artificially, we create and frame certain men as approaching the ideal – as heroes – out of a need to observe such men. If history has taught us anything, it is that mankind naturally tends toward evil; it is only through careful vigilance and the constant threat of losing our freedoms that we can maintain them. Perhaps in setting such men on pedestals and disregarding their failures, we are not such much admiring them as we are reassuring ourselves of humanity. If giants can arise out of society, perhaps there is hope for us: perhaps there is hope for humanity. Such heroes help us preserve the idea that man can be good, despite all the evil, suffering, and failure in the world.
The scandal to which we are daily exposed has perhaps destroyed our ability to believe in such heroes. The men and women who are supposed to be extraordinary, often seem to prove themselves so only by the exceptional number of their moral failures. We are reminded of Lord Acton’s famous dictum: all power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Adultery, illicit affairs, financial dishonesty, and various other corruptions seem as common among politicians and celebrities as runny noses in a nursery.
On the flip side of our desire to believe that man can be great, is both the realization that a greater capacity for goodness carries an equally great capacity for evil and a secret desire to see great men fall. The danger of greatness draws us to it; he who has the greatest capacity to save life has the greatest capacity to destroy it, and the balance can easily swing in either direction. Every good and powerful man is like a man dangling from the edge of a cliff, and breathless, we watch.
When great men fall, we are secretly pleased and fascinated, even though it only inspires cynicism. When great men fall, our own failures become a little more excusable. If we can excuse great men, perhaps we can excuse ourselves. If even great men cannot escape moral failures, how are we – the ordinary – be expected to escape? If it’s inevitable, perhaps we aren’t to blame.
No one is perfect, and so every time we set up a hero, we must ignore and cover his blemishes. This is not deceit, it is elevation of the good to the point where it fills our vision and we are unable to see anything else. Heroes are men as they should be, not men as they are. No matter how good we become, they are bigger and better still, and we are to continually reach after them.
It serves us better to create heroes than to destroy them.
Peter Vidala was fired for telling his coworker her homosexual marriage was wrong. He spoke up because he's a Christian, saying, "I see, like all real Christians, homosexuals as people who, like me, are sinners and need to be told the truth in a loving way."
He clearly identifies himself with his Christianity--it's who he is.
As you might recall, I posted this quote a while ago:
"When someone is attacked for being who they are, and for being proud of who they are, there is no other explanation for that attack than hatred and bigotry," said New York City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, the first openly gay speaker of the city council.
He was clearly fired for being who he is, and being unashamed (proud?) of who he is. Thus, the only reasonable explanation is that he's a victim of hatred and bigotry. Hey, not my words. I'm just applying things equally.
"Yeah, but he didn't have to say anything to his coworker. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Christians should keep their religion private."
--Oh really? Well what if I said this?
Homosexuals shouldn't flaunt their sexuality. They should keep their mouths shut. They should keep their homosexuality secret.
Blatant double standards, anyone? They're giving out free extra-portions! Get your pink slips while they're hot!
Alas, I realized we were already in November late last night. I've been planning on doing No Shave November for months, but I've been so busy that I lost track of time and WHAM, I forgot to shave on Saturday. Thus, I'm going into No Shave November with an untrimmed 'stache and goatee and scruff all over my neck.
I can't grow a full beard for the life of me. Get ready, here comes the beard joke:
My beard screams "Geronimo!" ...'cause it's a patchy beard! (Get it, Apache beard? Ha. Ha. Ha...)
Slightly ominous. Parallels, o how boring life would be without you...
"Pft, everybody is over-reacting." Perhaps, but it's also true that we might be under-reacting. "WHAT? Are you serious?" Yes, I'm serious. Hey, it's possible. "Do you ever blog anything except controversial news and opinion articles?" Yes, yes I do. "Well?" Hey, I've been busy. College is a mosquito. "Sucks your blood, eh?" Yeah, that and money. "You could have said vampire." I suppose. "So, when you're done being so busy...?" I'll start blogging more substantial things, I promise. I have tons of ideas--piles of plans. I'd like to do a post on aspects of death, another one on a Xian view of literature, perhaps even one defending "Xian" and "Xmas" as terms ("Keep Christ in Christmas!" What? He's still there. Etymology, anyone?), and perhaps a few posts on my developing aesthetic theory, etc. etc.
So stick aroond (as they say in Scotland). One of these days I'll have a real post up.
If Obama signs the 'hate crimes bill,' it will be time to begin looking to change my nationality.
A 'hate crime' is a thought crime, and it's a crime against the American people to legislate thoughts.
The predictions are, of course, that because 'hate crimes' are so ill defined, that as soon as someone can claim emotional and psychological distress over something someone has said out of 'hate'--bingo. Hate crime.
Of course, all advocates claim that the bill will be applied equally to all. Right, so if I ever get beat up for being a Christian, everyone will jump to my rescue and claim that I was a victim of hate? No, I'll tell you what will happen. I'll be accused of provoking the attack by being hateful myself. If I get beaten up for witnessing to someone, I'll be accused of hate speech against other religions, hate speech against 'alternative lifestyles,' and general bigotry.
It doesn't matter which way it goes. Christians lose. And they call this progress. Pft.
It's bloody favoritism, that's what it is.
Just watch, I wouldn't be surprised if this post earns me some 'hate speech', just like this post did.
New York Man Beaten for Being Gay. Clearly, violence is not a way to solve these sorts of problems. Please pay attention to the quote in this article. Remember it. It is a significant quote. I'll even reproduce it here:
"When someone is attacked for being who they are, and for being proud of who they are, there is no other explanation for that attack than hatred and bigotry," said New York City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, the first openly gay speaker of the city council.
When someone is attacked for being who they are, and for being proud of who they are, there is no other explanation for that attack than hatred and bigotry--really? I think we'll be finding out very soon. I'll be referring back to this in the future.
Sounds good to me! While we're at it, why don't we give the government a monopoly on carrying first-class mail? In fact, let's give our responsible federal government the job of helping the nation's poor (or nations', if you prefer) and responding to natural disasters! Oh! And let's hand over our children to our caring government's tutelage.
OH WAIT, we already do all that. 1) Stamps are too expensive, 2) our welfare programs subsidize promiscuity and the birth of bastard children (oh, but just think if we had free abortions! Problem solved!--a la Margaret "Racist" Sanger), 3) FEMA did an expensive, crappy job with Katrina (while local and state Churches and ministries responded immediately, albeit invisibly--thanks, CNN), 4) and our kids are stupid.
The Federal government is a giant king Midas that drowns the quality and rockets the cost of anything it touches (and who, if it was in a Dickens novel, would be in debtors prison right now). Way to go, Feddy.
Cheers,
EDIT: Apparently Insurers' attacks made the White House grumpy. A quote from the article:
"This is a self-serving analysis from the insurance industry, one of the major opponents of health insurance reform," [Linda Douglass, spokeswoman with the Office of Health Reform] said. "It comes on the eve of a vote that will reduce the industry's profits. It is hard to take it seriously."
Oh, please. Seriously? The insurance companies are self-serving and the Federal government isn't? Our immaculate federal government never acts in its own interests? Our Federal government is an obese baby with grubby hands. The Federal government ALWAYS acts in its own interests. Why do you think we have a system (however imperfect) of checks and balances? (Lately, it's looking more like cheques, and negative balances. Boing--boing--boing).
Bah. There's a baby that needs a bath, a new diaper, and a diet.
THIS is an interesting article. Toward the bottom there's a superstition quiz you can take.
At the end of the quiz, the writer notes, "The higher your score, the more supernatural your beliefs. Research among students using this scale showed an average score of 38 in the US and 32 in the UK."
I scored a walloping 9 points. The lowest possible score is 6.
You know, I wasn't really surprised. It's because I'm a Christian. Christianity leaves no room for superstition. I clearly believe in the supernatural, but my belief is a rational one, and it's a belief in an ordered supernatural, because God values order.
If that doesn't make sense, then you haven't understood Christianity.
Because I haven't time to write something thoughtful, here is a short rhyme about a mountain cabin in NC in which my family and I spent a night back in July. This was written the evening after (in a different and better cabin).
Here are some poems I wrote a while back. They both won minor awards in a small poetry competition, but I go to a really small college, so that doesn't really mean much. At any rate, I think poetry is an important art, so I thought I'd share some of my own. Cheers.
With His Finger - D. Araujo
I watched him do it the man he had a gun it was black like when I close my eyes and I watched him
I watched him because he was there there weren't any people around just me then he did it with his finger this one he didn't know I was watching I didn't know I was either I thought he was a man with a gun not a leaky hole
it was red red on the ground and I read it and it said something but I couldn't hear it because my ears were ringing and then I couldn't see because his eyes were staring
* * * as I faced the mirror it occurred to me that whenever someone dies you have to clean up the mess
a suicide dies to make a point about possession but instead robs himself of the one thing he never had
I killed myself only because I wanted to make a sound as big as God with my index finger
I never had a sister. I often wished for one: an older sister, one that would have saved me from both the boredom of aloof babysitters and terror of tickle-fighting sitters. I often imagined that we would be best friends: that she would defend me in all my pathetic geekiness from the ridicule of her peers, and that I would defend her honor against the advancing army of potential suitors.
And then sometimes I wished for a younger sister, as it is a well-known fact that younger sisters (when they are not being purposefully obnoxious) are the sweetest and loveliest creatures known to man. They are also, however, in even greater need of protection from the advances of love-sick boys than older sisters. The reason for this, of course, is that an older brother thinks all suitors unsuitable whereas a younger brother is more apt to admire his sister’s favorite suitor for his suit. Thus, I think it best to approach such matters of the dramatic and laborious trek toward marriage as an older brother.
A young woman’s search for a husband is much like being lost in a jungle. Puberty has wrecked her plane in the Amazon, and she must spend years in danger from snakes, panthers, and scantily clad natives. Unlike the young man in search of a wife (who is also lost in the jungle and in danger from snakes, panthers, and scantily clad natives) she cannot hack her way through the underbrush, clearing a trail to her future love with her machete. She must suffer the excitement of being found.
It is far more exciting to be found than to do the finding. Anyone who has played hide-and-seek knows this (of course, in hide-and-seek one tries not to be found, but it is more fun to be found and run away than to find and give chase). A deeper analogy will serve to make this clearer. Marriage is a picture of the relationship between Christ and the Church. Although it often appears that we find Christ, it was really He who had been pursuing us. How would the joys of Christianity be improved if we learned that we had not been pursued? That God had been playing hide-and-seek and had been hiding in hopes that we would find Him? Half of the fun is in the pain of suspense and the shock of surprise.
Since it is still valid to say that we have found Christ, even though it is really He who has found us, it is valid to consider the young woman as finding her husband. And in practice, the young man may not know how to pursue her and may have the uncanny feeling that she has found him. But I do not intend to discuss how the young man must pursue his future bride, but rather intend to discuss the matter from her side.
And so, we return to where I began. If I had a younger sister, there are a number of things that I would tell her and a number of observations I would make. These are some of the things I might say:
Dear sister,
Marriage, being a covenant between two people, contains four perspectives of which you should be aware. What I mean is this: all people are sinners, and a marriage is a joining of a man-sinner and a woman-sinner. Furthermore, being human, we are all finite and confined to experiencing the world through our own senses--through our own point of view.
The first perspective is your view of yourself, and when this view is accurate, it leads to true humility. Humility requires us to correctly evaluate not just our failings, but also our successes and gifts. God has given us gifts, and to underplay or devalue what God has given us is extremely rude. “That’s a beautiful dress!” someone tells you. “Nah,” you say, “my parents bought it for me. It’s a piece of junk.” But such introspection is worthless if it doesn’t drive you mad with joy and sorrow: joy at the goodness and mercy of God manifest in you, and sorrow at your sins.
The second perspective is your view of your (future) husband. He will not be perfect; you should not expect him to be. You should, however, expect him to be an earnest Christian. You should also expect him to be tolerable. Marriage is a great war of tolerance that only ends with the death of either spouse. An earnest Christian will do his best to be tolerable--even lovable. But one can only expect so much accommodation. I’m sure you don’t expect to become an entirely different person after you marry (although you might), so don’t expect him to mold himself to your wishes either. What this means is that (in being chosen) you should choose wisely.
First, as I have said, you must choose an earnest and tolerable Christian. Because most divorces are made over money, you should also see that he is wise with his money: not a giddy spendthrift, nor a cantankerous miser, but cautious, controlled, yet generous. Furthermore, if he is not prepared to save and starve that you may spend and eat, he is not prepared to provide.
Many a marriage has been made miserable by mother-in-laws. Father-in-laws, too. I once met a man whose sister was kidnapped at gunpoint by her brother-in-law, who, being the epitome of a gentleman, then proceeded to shoot holes through her family’s vehicles. Thus, remember that you will marry into a family. A marriage unites two families through a third: it is not an isolated union. Marriages have crumbled because the couple failed to see marriage as a uniting force, and saw it instead as a dividing one. Some persons seem to have the idea that a pastor’s (or priest’s) role in a wedding ceremony is much like that of an auto-mechanic in a junkyard. Just as the mechanic may take a door and hood off this car and salvage brake discs out of that car and put them all into a third car, so does the pastor confirm (before God) the union of a man from this family and a woman from that family--as if families were separated and unsoldered instead of joined. It must be shocking for them to discover that their marriage-mechanic had really taken two cars and welded them together to make a single car. A marriage is a fusion; don’t take that lightly.
I have often heard my mother say that the way a young woman treats her father, so will she treat her husband. If she respects and honors her father, she will respect and honor her husband. I am certain that this also applies in the opposite direction: how a young man treats his mother is how he will treat his wife. If he respects, honors, and is patient with his mother, he is bound to respect, honor, and be patient with his wife. Young men are often impetuous and proud, and mothers are not. Mothers also have a habit of advising their sons during such reckless moods. The type son who hears his mother with patience during his ill humors is the sort you should want.
Unfortunately, the state of American culture requires me to add a note about divorce. It is a well known--and too infrequently mourned--fact that over half of all marriages end in divorce. There are many fine young men and women whose parents are divorced. While I do not want to impute the sins of the parents to the children, children are always affected by the unity or disunity of their homes. Often, these early experiences will harmfully affect their marriages. But the psychology behind why children often repeat the sins of their parents is best left to the psychologists.
Another crucial point to consider is, well, the point. A rapier begins with a hilt, continues with the blade, and ends in a point, which is really the whole point of the sword. Likewise, marriage is concerned with happiness, love, and unity, but that is not its point. The point of a Christian marriage (with which it will stab the wicked world in its heart) is to advance Christ’s Kingdom--to Glorify God. Thus, the spiritual health of a marriage is of utmost importance, and this is measured by each spouse’s individual sanctification. Thus, the man you choose to wed must be not only a tolerable Christian, but also a mature and wise Christian. It is only when you and your husband are united in purpose--and that purpose being the will of God--that you will find the rest of the sword beneath you. In other words, in loving Christ above all else, you will find all else already in your pockets. Do you want a happy marriage? Seek Christ above all. It is only when both of you send your love upwards that you will find yourselves able to love each other. Rising love converges in God, and as you rise, you will find yourselves colliding into unity.
At last, there is one more note to make. Habits are either handy or horrible. I have a habit of always locking the doors of my car as I leave. This is very handy. I also have a habit of clicking my retractable pens when I’m thinking. This habit, if you are bothered by clicking pens, is annoying, but there are (and I have) far worse habits. When you marry, you marry a whole person. All persons have habits and mannerisms: some are handy and some are horrible. And marriage is the great magnifier. Not only are character flaws magnified in marriage, but so are habits and manners. For the sake of your sanity (and his) consider well the habits and manners of your future husband. If you are extraordinarily neat, beware of marrying a pig. If you are extraordinarily messy, be aware that you will send an organized fiancé's brain into near fatal shock.
I mentioned four perspectives in marriage and have only mentioned two. The other two are his and they run parallel to yours. As you consider the kind of man you ought to marry, do not forget to be the kind of woman he needs. You cannot change him, you can only change yourself. If you want to marry well, become the kind of woman your future husband ought to marry. Clearly, there are some things which are impossible to change, such as the past, but as no one is perfect, you will never run out of ways to improve: bad habits to break, good habits to acquire; foolishness to unlearn, wisdom to find; hurtful thoughts to silence, encouragements to speak.
As you wander through your jungle, doing your best to avoid its hazards, turning down dates with crocodiles and movies with monkeys, you may begin to find yourself discouraged. But take heart when you flee from the naked pigmy fellows, and rejoice despite your inevitable shrieks when you discover a snake. Think of what a plight you would be in if you hadn’t the discernment to recognize the snake, or if you had mistaken an ill clad forest-man for your long awaited hero. Marriage is more difficult to wait for than Christmas morning, and it’s just as much work to wait as it is to hack one’s way through the Amazon with a machete. But your waiting needn’t be idle, and your struggles needn’t be purposeless. Prepare yourself and seek after Christ, and His will will have its way in His time. To paraphrase Mr. Lewis, God is not often early, but He is never late.
As a volunteer reporter for a small local paper, I must often think with a journalistic mind and see with a journalistic eye. And so, as I was reading The Ball and the Cross, this paragraph caught my attention, and I thought I'd share it. Chesterton was fond of pointing out the absurdity and the miraculous in the sane and ordinary--of reminding us of what we already know in such a way that we see that not only that we had forgotten it, but also that we had only ever seen it half wrong.
It is the one great weakness of journalism as a picture of our modern existence, that it must be a picture made up entirely of exceptions. We announce on flaring posters that a man has fallen off a scaffolding. We do not announce on flaring posters that a man has not fallen off a scaffolding. Yet this latter fact is fundamentally more exciting, as indicating that the moving tower of terror and mystery, a man, is still abroad upon the earth. That the man has not fallen off a scaffolding is really more sensational; and it is also some thousand times more common. But journalism cannot reasonably be expected thus to insist upon the permanent miracles. Busy editors cannot be expected to put on their posters, "Mr. Wilkinson Still Safe," or "Mr. Jones, of Worthing, Not Dead Yet." They cannot announce the happiness of mankind at all. They cannot describe all the forks that are not stolen, or all the marriages that are not judiciously dissolved. Hence the complete picture they give of life is of necessity fallacious; they can only represent what is unusual. However democratic they may be, they are only concerned with the minority.
You may have heard the Kalam Cosmologial argument for the existence of God. You may have heard Anselm's Ontological argument (or his successors' restatements of the argument). And you may have heard the Teleological argument.
But I bet you haven't heard the Beanological argument for God's existence. That's because I discovered it. I can prove with three words that God exists.
Ready?
COFFEE. DARK CHOCOLATE.
But in all seriousness, how do you account for pleasure? For beauty? In The God Delusion, Dawkins attempts to rebut the argument from beauty but misses the point entirely and ends up destroying a straw man. I have never heard anyone convincingly explain away why we find things beautiful.
...or delicious.
I'm going to go get some coffee and go read philosophy. Philosophy works so much better when you can pressuppose God's existence (hence the coffee).
(I am much indebted to Richard Mitchell and his book, The Gift of Fire, for my thoughts on education.)
I have come to the conclusion that education is simultaneously much more difficult and also much simpler than we tend to think. What makes a man educated? Is a man educated if he's a mathematical genius but a perfect barbarian at the dinner table? Is a man educated if his manners are aristocratic in their perfection but he can't tell a Greek temple from a pagoda? Or is the educated man someone who is both socially adept and has studied some of history and some of science? Is that man educated?
I think all of these are inadequate tests for education. I think so because I do not think that education is, in its essence, about learning facts or skills. Education, at its most fundamental level, is a sort of alignment. You don't climb toward an education as if it were at the top of a ladder of lectures. I prefer to think of education in terms of magnets. Bits of steel, as you know, become magnets when their randomly pointed molecules uniformly align themselves. You might say that steel learns to become a magnet, not by having anything added to it, but by rearranging itself. This is how a piece of metal learns to attract other bits of metal; this is how a piece of metal learns to love (if you'll indulge me in my use of this word).
What I mean to say is that I think that education is about learning to love. But love is large, and being such a large activity, it brings other activities along with it. For instance, it is often said that love is blind. This is nonsense. Infatuation is blind, raw desire is blind, but love is neither of these things. It is impossible to love something you do not know. Someone might argue that it is possible to love someone that you do not know very well. No, it is possible to imagine that you love someone that you do not know very well, but upon close inspection, you will find that that which you think you love is only a reflection of yourself. Because it is impossible to love that which you don't know, your imagination will compensate for your ignorance and you will find yourself staring into your love's face, only to find that her face is a mirror.
I must make a brief distinction before I continue. I am using the word love broadly and with a variety of different meanings. The clever reader will point out that I am drawing false parallels by using 'love' to mean a natural attraction one moment, and then using it again in an erotic or romantic sense. I, however, do not think this is a false parallel for the following reason: both loves are, at their roots, a type of desire for and toward a specific end. So although I use love to mean different sorts of love, I cannot see how it is possible to separate them entirely and call one 'carrots' and the other 'Tuesday.' They are related.
Love then, is not blind, but requires close attention. You often know best the persons you love most. Love studies. This is why I believe that love is the root of education. Let me clarify further by explaining directly what I believe an educated man to be.
A perfectly educated man is a man who loves everything perfectly. That is, he loves nothing too much and loves nothing too little. He hates nothing which should not be hated and hates everything that should. A perfectly educated man loves himself only as much as he should, and no more. But this means that he must also know himself if he is to love himself, and he must know himself fully if he is to know how much to love himself. He must know that in himself which is good and he must know that in himself which is evil. The irony is that a perfectly educated man would also be a perfect man, and a perfect man has no evil. But the nearly educated man is an imperfect man, and he sees with imperfect eyes the monstrosity of his imperfection. The perfect man loves as he should and knows it. The nearly educated man knows that he does not love as he should, and weeps. The uneducated man thinks himself educated and good--not perfect, he's far too enlightened to imagine himself perfect. Only a perfect fool imagines himself perfect, but every uneducated man imagines himself to be acceptably good, adequately good, moderately good.
Of course, the (nearly educated) Christian immediately recognizes the irony of the uneducated man's position. Good is perfect. Imperfection added to perfection is imperfection. Move the bar one notch down from goodness and we immediately discover evil.
I must clarify something, lest I be accused of arrogance. The nearly educated man is not higher than the uneducated man. I call the nearly educated man 'nearly educated' because he has discovered something that the uneducated man has not: that he is uneducated. As soon as an uneducated man discovers that he is uneducated, he is nearly educated. Half of the education is in discovering that you haven't got it.
This brief post is woefully inadequate to convey all that I mean (which is also why I'm writing a novel on the subject), but I hope that it has perhaps caused you to think again about that which you have already thought. To summarize, education is about love, and love is about everything else. True education is learning to be good, not learning how to multiply and divide. Learning to multiply and divide will come as a natural consequence of loving and seeking that which deserves love and attention. A man who loves the universe as he ought will also love its ordered chaos, and his drive to understand it will lead him to math.
A Plague: China reported its third death from pneumonic plague, which is related to bubonic plague.
A Book Worm: That's me. I'm reading far too many books. I have a stack of books a foot and a half high that I need to read (or start reading) before school starts back.
A Books: That's right. Plural. I'm writing one right now and researching for another. Lord, help me. I'm going to die.
The media has placed far too much of its attention and energies in the Gates/Crowley scenario. I have no idea who overreacted--Gates or Crowley, but I do know who has overreacted. The media and Mr. Obama.
Obama made an uninformed statement about the situation. Fine. I don't care. But I did start to care when my news feeds kept informing me that Obama, Gates, and Crowley were going to have a beer together. I didn't care, I still don't care, and I care even less as to what kind of beer it is--and I really appreciate a good beer.
That's not news. That's extremely trivial information. The whole thing is starting to look like a publicity stunt which screams: Look at me! Look how cool I am! I drink beers with normal people!
And you know what? I don't care. But I do wish the media would report something important.
Off-duty firefighters save a boy trapped in a burning SUV. Unfortunately, they had trouble finding a knife and I suppose the boy wouldn't have been so badly burned had they found one faster.
I've recently begun writing poetry in earnest again. My poems have never been structured, so I'm forcing myself to write sonnets and very strict forms in an attempt to improve. At any rate, it's getting frustrating because every poem feels incredibly forced.
But frustration can also be productive:
I bear the name 'poet' with shame I'm not worthy to go by that name Every rhyme is a crime And I ought to get time 'Cause my poems are stupid and lame.
In observance of Independence Day, July 4, I urge you, my fellow Americans, to celebrate by observing the following annual ritual:
Read the Constitution while drinking coffee.
A day without coffee is like a day without sunshine. And a day without reading is like a day without coffee. And a country that doesn't know its Constitution is like...in trouble. The Declaration of Independence.
Many people, especially children, when reading a story, fairy-tale, legend, or fable, ask first of all: 'Is it true?' and if they see that what is described could not have happened, they often say: 'Oh, this is mere fancy, it isn't true.'
Those who judge so, judge amiss.
Truth will be known not by him who knows only what has been, is, and really happens, but by him who recognizes what should be according to the will of God.
He does not write the truth who describes only what has happened and what this or that man has done, but he who shows what people do that is right--that is, in accord with God's will; and what people do wrong--that is, contrary to God's will.
Truth is a path. Christ said, 'I am the way, the truth, and the life.'
And so he who looks down at his feet will not know the truth, but he who discerns by the sun which way to go.
Today I finally discovered how my novel begins. So I began it. I'll probably share the first chapter with you when I finish it, or if it's too long, share a portion of it. I hope to have my novel completely done by next summer. It'll be a challenge, but this story is extremely important to me and I hope that it will be important to other people.
In other news, I'm reading a ton of books. Surprise! Here's a list of what I'm currently reading.
Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand
A History of Philosophy V. 2: Medieval Philosophy - Frederick Copleston
The Historical Reliability of the Gospels - Craig L. Blomberg
The God Delusion - Richard Dawkins
The Book of Mormon - Joseph Smith
El Leon, la Bruja, y el Ropero - C. S. Lewis (The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in Spanish)
Reading so many books at a time definitely has a downside: it takes longer to finish any one book. But I like being able to switch between so many stories and topics. It keeps things from getting boring and helps me to stay motivated. I can only read so many pages of medieval philosophy before I start to fall asleep. KnowwhatImean?
I have a beard. More specifically, I have something like a Van Dyke. At any rate, it's a dream come true. Literally. I used to have dreams in which I would wake up with a beard and weep with happiness. Then I would actually wake up and mourn my naked face.
At any rate, I'm writing this piece as a defense of my beard. My grandmother hates it, my mom wasn't a huge fan when I came home from England with it, and most of the young women I know detest facial hair.
I suspect that most women detest facial hair for two reasons: 1) they're jealous and 2) they don't understand it. It's really simple, ladies. Facial hair is to Man what makeup is to Woman. Now, I know what you women are thinking about reason 1: "Jealous? Me? Duh!" This jealousy manifests itself in all sorts of depilatory activities: shaving your legs, your armpits, etc. In psychology this is called 'Beard Repression.' What a lot of people don't know is that Freud's primary interest was in the psychological effects of facial hair. In fact, he considered this his life's work. Unfortunately, we remember him only for his work on sexuality and the psyche, etc.
Don't get me wrong, although shaving legs and armpits is an expression of Beard Repression, I'm not advocating that women stop these habits. They are healthy habits that help them cope with their inability to grow beards. Besides, a beard is only a beard on a face. Armpit and leg beards don't count.
Furthermore, women don't realize that among men, the beard is a symbol of manhood. And, as we all know (in a perfect world) the higher the manhood meter, the sexier a man is. For instance, Robert E. Lee? Sexy Beast. Richard Simmons? Crazy Freak.
Men, unlike women, don't approach their friends and say, "Omg, you look sooo cute!" Men don't base their opinions on hair, makeup, dress, shoes, color coordination, etc. No. Men judge on beard. A man approaches his comrades with compliments such as, "You have a beard" or "I think you have coffee in your mustache" etc. The bigger the beard, the more respected a man is among his fellows.
What has been happening is that intolerant women are forcing their own beard repression onto men. The result of this is that a man feels obligated to relinquish his beard, thus humiliating himself before his friends and destroying his self-image as a man. The ancient Greeks and Romans called a beardless man a 'woman faced' man.
Instead of trying to become women, men ought to be men. Heterosexuality is traditional because it works, and it works because men and women are different and complimentary. Therefore, I propose that women be lady-like and that men be manly. Let's reestablish the poles.
For this reason, I free my follicles. I mold my character to true manhood and let my face proclaim my convictions.
So ladies, I know you're jealous, but don't feel bad. We men prefer you without beards. Trust me.
